#dotatober

[aditublog]

my writing - dota - fictober day 6

"Adaptable, I like that." The Mogul Khan shouldered his double-edged axe. His muscles bunched with the movement due to its weight. It was more than half of the Khan's body height and it was designed to be held with two hands. Two of his hands. It was all about strength and force but the Mogul Khan was strong and therefore he swung an axe that was heavy enough to cut through the best armour. Through every armour.

Someone weaker would never be able to pick up the axe, much less wield it. Someone as weak as the troll next to him for example. At least the troll had shown his worth otherwise so the Mogul Khan didn't despise him for his puny arms and purple skin.

Carrying the axe on one shoulder, the Khan nodded at the troll shaman to follow him. They were on the search for enemies and though he had initially wanted to go alone, the Khan was glad to have a shaman by his side. He'd never admit it, but the troll had some serious moves up his sleeve. Not only healing and reinforcing the Khan's armour, but also attacking the enemies. Defensive and offensive. Adaptable.

On the other hand, the troll was slightly crazy. When they entered a small clearing, the Mogul Khan walked on with long strides, crossing the clearing and stepping underneath the trees on the other side.

The Shadow Priest stopped and crouched. It took long moments before the Khan noticed the troll's absence, then he turned around and headed back. Stunned at the picture in front of him, he stopped. He had expected that the troll had found something of importance but this was hilarious.

Staff discarded on the ground, the shaman sat between flowers, were picking them, one after the other, taking his time to examine them before taking them. He had a small bouquet in one hand to which he was adding steadily.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The Khan's voice wasn't much more than a growl. Unfazed, the Shadow Priest smiled at him.

“I'm picking flowers. They have so nice colours and they smell heavenly.” He stood up, walked towards the Mogul Khan and held the bouquet out. “I thought they might bring you joy.”

“Me?” That was the strangest thing the troll could've said.

“Yeah, look, the colour is almost the same as your skin.” His smile widened. “Pretty”, he murmured.

The Mogul Khan was a warrior, what was he supposed to do with flowers? And while they were searching for enemies. “I don't want some stupid flowers.” But he didn't knock them from the troll's hand, though it had been his first urge. They were pretty. Deep red on small flower heads, the petals were long and sharp, and their smell scented the air on the whole clearing. He had no need for them but he didn't want to crush them. “Take them yourself, if you like them. And now come, we don't have time to sit around and pluck flowers.”

With swift movements, the troll shaman bound the bouquet to his waist-belt, then retrieved his staff. With every step he took, he smelled of the flowers now. It was nice, in this time of war. Like a moment of joy. It was over too soon, the flowers not surviving the next fight, but their scent lingered even after the troll had discarded the sad remains of the plants. The strange shaman had been right, they had brought joy, if only fleetingly. Unexpected, to get that from something this base.

[anjael]

I made a Dota 2 prompt list for october drawing month, feel free to use it if you like! :D 

If you use it please tag it and @ me so I can see your lovely art!!

[lasanha-do-lidl]

While looking for reference pics for this, I stumbled upon... a lot of... weird pics... so I'm convinced I've just drawn some sort of obscure fetish lmao.

[aditublog]

my writing - dota - fictober day 7

"Check that again, are you sure?"

Irritated, the Warlock frowned. “What do you want from me?”

“Check again, I think something is wrong with the fountain.” Wings flapping lazily, the Dark Willow hovered a few inches above the ground, pointing at said fountain.

“Why don't you check it yourself?”

“I already did but I need a second opinion. Maybe I'm wrong.”

With a sigh, the Warlock turned towards the fountain. He saw nothing that was out of the ordinary but humouring the Dark Willow he leaned closer, until his head was right above the water.

A sudden movement at his back, a push between his shoulder blades, an obstacle in front of his feet that made him trip, and the Warlock was lying in the fountain. He tried to grab something, got the edge of the fountain and pulled himself up.

He spluttered, water in his eyes, in his mouth, his clothes soaking up the wet within seconds. They would be heavy, clinging to his frame and restricting his movements. As soon as he had rubbed the water from his face, the Warlock glared at the Dark Willow. Who was sitting on the ground, holding her stomach and laughing until tears rolled down her cheeks.

Ignoring the Dark Willow, the Warlock stood up and climbed out of the fountain, which wasn't easy with all that cloth clinging to him. Considering the Willow's laugh, it didn't look particularly graceful, either. Then he grabbed his staff which was floating on the water, but it made him almost fall in a second time because the clothes were too fucking heavy and pulled him forward.

He was dripping and it was uncomfortable. Yet he'd have to let his clothes and hair and everything dry on the air. He made one step and felt water sloshing in his shoes. Under the continued laughter of the Willow he poured the water out, one after the other. Then, head held high, he left. The laughter followed him for a while.

It was his own fault, he knew better than to trust anything the Dark Willow ever said. But she was a good performer, she had seemed so earnest.

A moment later, the Dark Willow was by his side. Whatever she wanted, the Warlock wouldn't react to it. He stared straight ahead.

“Come on, I just wanted to tease you a bit because you are always so tense. Here, I have a towel.”

Still angry, the Warlock didn't answer. It was probably another trick and he wouldn't fall for it again. But the Willow flew in front of him, blocking his way. She held a huge towel out for him. “Take it. And please don't be angry.”

“Why should I trust you with that?” The Warlock indicated the towel without taking it.

The Dark Willow scrunched her nose. “Because it wasn't supposed to make you angry, it should've been fun. You know what fun is, right?” She cocked her head to the side and eyed him up, while still holding the towel.

This could be another performance but a towel would be nice. Carefully, prepared to jump back, the Warlock reached out. Nothing happened. He examined the towel but it seemed ordinary enough. So he pulled the hood from his head and dried his face, his hair. When he looked up, the Dark Willow was watching him. “What?”

She smiled a little. “Admit it, it was funny.”

“No.” He'd never admit to such a thing. It would only encourage her. But his anger was gone. It was too warm anyway in all the layers he was wearing, a little refreshment in form of a dive in the fountain hadn't been so bad.

The smile transformed into a grin, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Okay.” She winked at him and waved, then she left for the direction of the fountain. Maybe to trick someone else, too.

The Warlock stood there, not sure what to do with the towel, but he had to smile at the sassiness of the Dark Willow. Because she wasn't cruel, she was just exuberant and in this world, that was filled with darkness and war, it was nice to see someone in such a good temper.

[aditublog]

my writing - dota - fictober day 18

"I don't think this is your problem." The Bounty Hunter ignored the Bloodseeker next to him as he stared up at the cliff, trying to figure out how to put a ward up there. It was too high for him to reach, yet it was the perfect place to put a ward, to give them vision above a wide stretch of forest and the roads in-between. He only had to get it up there.

For a moment, he debated if he should throw it and hope it would remain standing. If it didn’t, he’d have wasted a perfectly fine ward. He wasn’t that good in throwing things, so he dismissed the idea. Maybe he should try to climb the cliff though it looked difficult.

With the ward in his backpack, the Bounty Hunter stepped closer to the rock and searched for a ledge to grasp and then to put his feet onto. It wasn’t that high, it should be possible. But the wall was smooth and there was nothing for the Hunter to hold on to.

“I disagree. I benefit from the wards you place the same as you. It is only right that I help you and that includes putting the wards into places that are difficult to access.”

The Bounty Hunter smiled, though it was hidden underneath his half mask. He was glad the Bloodseeker was with him. “How are you going to help me but a ward onto the cliff?”

“Get onto my shoulders, then you’ll be able to reach to edge.” It sounded easy but the Bounty Hunter didn’t like heights and it was wobbly on the Bloodseeker’s shoulders. He was nervous and of course the Bloodseeker picked up on it. “I have you, don’t worry.” The words were a soft murmur, a stroke over the Hunter’s senses. He calmed instantly, trusting the Bloodseeker unconditionally.

It was a close thing, but the Bounty Hunter was able to reach the edge of the cliff. He didn’t try to pull himself up, instead he simply dug the ward out of his backpack and stuck it onto the rock. “Down please.”

The Bloodseeker let go of one of the Hunter’s legs, which he had been holding in a tight grip, to hold a hand out for the Hunter to take. Slowly he climbed down from the shoulders. Back on the ground, the Bloodseeker didn’t immediately let go of his hand. They stared at each other, though the Bounty Hunter knew the Bloodseeker couldn’t actually see anything through the cap covering his eyes. But his other senses were good enough to make up for the absence of sight.

“See, this might not have been my problem but together it was still easier to solve, don’t you think?”

The Bounty Hunter smiled again, aware that the Bloodseeker could probably sense it even though it was hidden.

A moment later, the Bloodseeker raised the Hunter’s hand to his mouth, turned it palm upwards and very slowly, while ‘looking’ at the Hunter, licked over his wrist, right where his pulse beat. A shiver raced through the Hunter’s small body, a shiver of delight. A second shiver followed as the lick was accompanied by the slightest scrape of teeth.

When the Bloodseeker lowered the Bounty Hunter’s hand he still didn’t let go, instead they walked through the forest hand in hand.

@sxpaiscia

[aditublog]

my writing - dota - fictober day 17

"Are you serious?" Mirana was incredulous. How dare the Troll Warlord talk to her like that? “That is rather misogynistic.”

“It isn’t.” Though the Warlord was fighting, he had enough breath to talk with her. “If I said I wanted you to stand on the side of the road and look pretty because you are female, then it would be misogynistic. As it is, I simply want you to do what I tell you to. Nothing more and nothing less. Now hold some healing salve ready for me.”

He was right, this wasn’t misogynistic, it was pure arrogance. He thought he was better than her because he was stronger, he’d probably treat a male he thought weaker just the same. That didn’t make it any better and Mirana was fuming inside. She was the Priestess of the Moon, she wouldn’t be treated like that without consequences.

Oh yes, she had the healing salve ready for the Troll Warlord when he needed it, he had said he wanted her to do what he told her to. But she did nothing he didn’t specifically ask for. And when he almost died, because he didn’t tell Mirana to help him, had even forbidden her to interfere in his fighting before, she smirked.

She toned the smirk down when the troll stood in front of her, furious. She held a healing salve out for him to take and as soon as it was working, he started yelling. “How dare you let me die? It is your job to support me, that includes helping me when the enemy is about to overpower me. How stupid are you?”

“Oh, I should have helped you to fight?” With round eyes Mirana pretended to be surprised. She wasn’t stupid at all, just too proud to let this troll bully her. “You didn’t tell me to do that so I didn’t know. Maybe you should make sure to call for my help next time you need it, in case I read the situation wrong. Not that I interfere when it isn’t wanted.”

The Troll Warlord narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t stupid as well and he knew what she was doing. Mirana blinked, trying to appear innocent.

With a growl, the Warlord pointed one of his axes at her. “Your job is to support me, do it.”

“But I did and then you told me I did it wrong. Now I don’t want to disappoint my carry so I think it’s best I wait for your command.”

The troll’s skin turned even more red than it naturally was, as if his anger truly burned inside him. He seemed to debate what to do next and Mirana was curious. He could let her do her job as she wanted to or he could actually tell her every single thing he wanted from her. To her surprise, and amusement, he went for the second option. Stupid troll. She was so strong, could be such an amazing support, and he clipped her wings like that. It would end badly, but only for him.

The Priestess of the Moon wasn’t dependent on her carry. Should he fall, she’d be fully able to fend for herself. She was prepared for that to happen. He could die in his arrogance, she didn’t care.

Chin held high, Mirana sat on her mount, unmoving, waiting for the Troll Warlord to call for her. It was the most inefficient method he could’ve chosen, but he had chosen and she’d make him see his error.

When he died, she laughed. And when he reappeared by her side, resurrected by forces that were grander than both of them, she offered him the same deal as before. Let her do her job as she saw fit or wait for his commands.

Skin burning bright red, teeth clenched and hands balled into fists, the Troll Warlord agreed to let her do her job.

Only when he had turned away did she smile in triumph. And then she did her job as his support. Gloriously, as she might add.

[aditublog]

my writing - dota - fictober day 13

"I don't want you to do that." Raijin frowned at Xin. The Ember Spirit was browsing the wares in the shop but Raijin knew what he was looking for. “They will target you, specifically you, all at once. You will be their main focus, they will try to bring you down first.”

If the enemy attacked Xin all at once, they might just be able to kill him and that thought frightened Raijin. He didn’t want to have to watch Xin die, not here, not now, not ever.

Xin’s eyes burned with an uncanny intensity when he looked up. “They can as well try.”

Raijin was very sure of himself, knew how strong he was and that he wasn’t easy to kill. But his confidence was nothing compared to Xin’s. The Ember Spirit was convinced he would win every fight, would defeat every enemy and would never go down.

“This weapon will make me even stronger, no one will have a chance against me.”

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Raijin frowned. The air around him crackled with static energy, due to his displeasure. “To be strong isn’t all. You know that. Don’t buy that stupid sword.”

But the Ember Spirit had found it among the other weapons and ran his finger over the hilt reverently. “It is amazing. I can feel its power even from this small touch. I will be invincible as soon as I hold it.”

“No, you won’t.” Because he could be disabled, stunned or the weapon knocked from his hand. Xin was strong without the weapon, that wasn’t truly a problem. Strong weapons tended to make the wearer reckless, though. Raijin had seen it often enough and he saw it now, as well.

Xin’s hand lingered above the hilt of the sword, then he pulled away with a start. “You are right. Not invincible.” He focussed on Raijin, his features softer now. “Which sword then, instead?”

Relieved, Raijin grinned and dropped his arms, the static around him receding. “Any sword, as long as it’s not the Divine Rapier. It brings bad luck.” It was too tempting, the damn weapon. Raijin felt it as well, the wish to wield it, to use its power. He had seen too many good heroes fall with the sword in their hands, though. He had seen the misfortune it brought. He wouldn’t want his Xin to be one of them.

“Something swift. Something powerful. Something to cut through armour more easily?” The Ember Spirit muttered to himself while looking at the wares on display.

Raijin moved forward, fast as lightning and took one of the swords. It burned similar to how Xin did, a burning weapon for a burning Spirit. “This one?”

“Almost as good as a Divine Rapier.”  The Ember Spirit took it and swung it. Satisfied he nodded, paid and together they left the shop.

“Thank you for not taking the Rapier.”

“You were right, it would be stupid. It is the wish for power that makes me want to get it. But this fight we are fighting isn’t about power. It is about tactics and merely being strong won’t make us win.” He stopped walking and bowed slightly towards Raijin. “Thank you for making me see reason.”

“Well”, Raijin had to concede, “I didn’t think about tactics and how to win, I was merely thinking about how this weapon makes its wielders die too soon. I don’t want you to die, therefore I don’t want you to buy the Rapier. I might have been a bit selfish, there.”

“I see.” But the scowl that was almost always present on Xin’s features smoothed out. “I don’t mind you being selfish when it is about me. I don’t want you to die, either.”

“Great, now that we have that settled, and you have this mighty sword, how about we kick some ass?” Raijin grinned, looking forward to their next fight.

[aditublog]

my writing - dota - fictober day 12

"You're making my head hurt."

“In a good or in a bad way?”

“How can a head hurt in a good way?” The Phantom Assassin raised a hand. “Don’t answer, it will probably make my head hurt even more.”

The Sacred Warrior grinned. She was probably right about that. “I know that you like me, though.”

She glared at him but it was only for show. Huskar didn’t know why, but she did like him, no matter how annoying he was. Like now, when he had forgotten to get one of the runes.

He tended to forget about them, though Mortred always reminded him of their importance. ‘They can make the difference, can be that little more power we need to win a fight’. ‘They are free money, it won’t come any easier than that’. ‘They can save your life, in a situation where you otherwise wouldn’t survive’.

Still, the Sacred Warrior forgot to look for them. And the Phantom Assassin chided him for it. And this time, rightly so. “I’m sorry.” He was very earnest now, the grin gone. He had said he’d go because Mortred had been occupied. She should be able to trust him, to rely on him.

Though Mortred had scowled at him, now that he was apologizing her features softened until she was almost smiling. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, we are strong enough without the runes. It is easier when we use them, but we don’t need easy. Together we are an unbeatable force anyway. Maybe it is only fair to give our enemies a little advantage.”

Huskar’s grin was all teeth, a fearsome sight. Yet Mortred had never been afraid. She had no reason to, she was the Phantom Assassin.

Instead she raised her chin and flipped him off. “Don’t get cocky, troll. We’ll have to give it everything and I’d prefer you get the next rune.” Her eyes narrowed and Huskar felt a shiver racing down his spine. The Phantom Assassin might be smaller than him, less muscled than him, less fierce than him, but she was far deadlier. “Don’t make me angry.”

The Sacred Warrior thought the Assassin would never hurt him but she wouldn’t be above throwing a dagger at him. Then she’d say it was his own fault if he hadn’t evaded it. She’d probably say he would’ve been able to evade if he had collected the rune. In any case, Huskar wouldn’t try that. Instead he dared to lean down and brush his lips against her sharp cheekbones. “I won’t.”

“I get angry when my head hurts.”

“Maybe a kiss would make that headache go away?”

She shot another glare at him but when Huskar grinned, unfazed, she murmured: “You could try. It will definitely not get worse from a kiss.”

They didn’t have time to linger but for a short moment, there was only Mortred. Her lips were soft against his, her fingers the barest touch on his chest, her scent wrapping around him until he forgot the battlefield they were standing on.

When they parted, her eyes held affection.

Then she straightened and as she walked away, she called over her shoulder: “Don’t forget the runes!”

Huskar laughed. She truly was amazing.